


As Is

by SubatHeart



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Dark John, Dark Sherlock, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 11:51:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14164236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubatHeart/pseuds/SubatHeart
Summary: John is not exactly what people think he is. Sherlock is exactly what everyone hopes he is not. Somehow, they found each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on Fanfiction.net but I find myself spending all my time on this site so I decided to bring it over. I love these boys and am thinking of more naughty stories for them. Hope you enjoy my efforts!!
> 
> FYI: As much as I wish otherwise, they do not belong to me.

John woke, unsure of where he was. His bed was softer than he remembered, and the light coming in through the window was bright and warm. Suddenly it came back to him. Sherlock…it was real. The brilliant, beautiful and infuriating creature really existed, and he was living with him. He had even killed to protect him. He never thought he'd do that again; damn it had felt fucking fantastic. Mycroft Holmes was only half right when he deduced that John missed the excitement of the war. Shooting the cabbie awakened him from a slumber that began when he'd been invalided home. He'd been prepared to never speak of it, to have it be his secret, but Sherlock had known. Not only had he known; he approved! The warmth of that smile had shocked John to his core. Remembering the moment he knew that Sherlock didn't judge him and wouldn't turn him in, made his morning hard on throb. He smiled, wondering when Sherlock would give him the opportunity to kill again.

Sherlock heard John moving around upstairs. He tuned his violin, considering the soldier who had stumbled into his life. Normally, he hated most people, and didn't like to have them too close. Those he allowed some closeness were useful to him. Lestrade gave him access to New Scotland Yard and Mrs Hudson took care of domestic duties with which he couldn't be bothered. His clients were so grateful for his assistance that they fell over themselves to do favors for him and his network was his eyes and ears. Now there was Dr John H Watson. Of course the man was useful to him, incredibly useful. His medical knowledge was superb; he found Sherlock fascinating, which appealed to his fragile ego, and as a former soldier he was skilled in combat and weaponry. What surprised Sherlock, pleasantly he had to admit if only to himself, was his utter lack of reservation in killing to protect a man he had just met. However, Sherlock did not delude himself into believing that John killed just for him. While he was aware of the doctor's attraction to him, and that he admired his genius, he knew without a doubt that Dr Watson killed the cabbie simply because he could. John Watson was most definitely not boring. This fact interested Sherlock immensely. Did he dare extend his involvement with the doctor to include a part of his life which he kept hidden from everyone, well except Mycroft of course but he hardly mattered…


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock never considered Sarah a threat. He knew John needed the release of sex and since he hadn't decided what kind of relationship he wanted with his doctor, he was perfectly fine with John having intercourse with other people until he made a decision. That didn't mean he couldn't enjoy pulling John away in order to establish a pecking order. She did need to know who was more important after all. Apparently, she thought more highly of herself than he gave her credit for and finally broke it off with John. Sherlock could pretend to feel bad, but he knew John would see through the ruse. Instead, he took him hunting. He had been searching for the killer of several of his homeless network. They came to him after three had been killed. Now six were dead and Sherlock was very unhappy. He may not care about people in general, but he did not like his people being abused.

He needed to use bait to lure his prey in. She was sitting near the Albert Bridge, a favorite spot for this killer. Sherlock couldn't see John, but he knew where he was hiding. Suddenly, Sherlock heard a noise. It was obvious Olivia hadn't heard anything, but Sherlock knew someone was approaching. He watched the shadows, waiting for his prey to show himself. He emerged on Olivia's left, creeping slowly and quietly in order to ambush the oblivious woman. Sherlock was already moving. When the scream came, he expected to be the first there. John surprised him by getting to her first. Sherlock never saw him coming. He would be annoyed with himself if he weren't so impressed. He really needed to know how he moved like that. Normally he seemed to stomp along as though he were trying to alert everyone in a five mile radius of his presence. But when he needed to be, he was invisible. Fascinating. Sherlock was running after their prey while John checked on Olivia. The killer had grabbed her neck and the dear doctor needed to make sure she was uninjured. He heard John's footsteps coming after a few minutes, gaining slightly with every step. He knew he normally ran faster than John, of course he did. His legs were longer. How was he not only keeping pace, but gaining on them? As John passed him, he could see his face. It was practically glowing with joy. Sherlock knew what would happen when John caught his prey, and he was looking forward to it.

John was focused so completely on catching his quarry that he barely noticed Sherlock as he bypassed him. He was gaining on him swiftly and he could already feel his hands around his neck squeezing the life out of him. Seeing the man trip made him groan with disappointment. How pedestrian! The pursued tripping and allowing the hunter to catch him so easily…..were they in a slasher flick for fuck's sake?! He slowed down, taking deep breaths as he circled his soon-to-be victim. The man cowered on the ground watching him slowly moving in. John knew he was begging for his life, probably making promises or trying to convince him of his innocence, but he heard none of it. All he could hear were the sounds of breathing, his own, the prey, and Sherlock's. Yes he knew he was there, watching from the shadows. This enhanced his pleasure, knowing Sherlock was watching, deducing, and missing nothing. He crouched down, waiting for its fear to die down some, lulling it into a false sense of security before he struck. He lifted it up by its neck before slamming it into the ground, squeezing with all of his strength. He watched its eyes widen, the shock turn to panic and then to resignation. It was at that moment that he let go. As it gasped for air, thinking that it would live, he snapped its neck. The sound of its spine crunching made him groan with pleasure. He heard his groan echoed in the shadows to his left. He chuckled lightly.

John was in front of Sherlock before he even saw him move. He really needed to know how he did that. Sherlock couldn't stop himself, he grabbed John by his jacket and slammed him into the side of the building, pressing himself against the smaller man. Their ragged breathing was the only sound either heard. Sherlock had John lifted onto his tiptoes, their lips centimeters apart. John's eyes were shining and he stared into Sherlock's eyes waiting for him to come to a decision. Suddenly, Sherlock released him and spun on his heel. It was 30 seconds before he heard John following him. He grabbed his wrist and spun him back around.

"The body?" John asked.

"What about it?"

John's eyebrow rose. Sherlock almost smiled. John was starting to mimic his mannerisms. He briefly wondered if he realized, and decided that he didn't. Sherlock wondered why that pleased him.

"Mycroft will take care of it. He's good at that." Sherlock looked down at his wrist and back up to John questioningly. John let go and started to walk ahead of Sherlock.

"Tea then?"

Sherlock finally let himself smile.


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft was annoyed. It had been years since the last time he'd been forced to clean up after Sherlock, and honestly, he was rather disappointed in Dr Watson. Considering how careful he'd obviously been all his life, to leave a body lying on an embankment was just….rude. The only thing keeping him from punishing them was the character of the thing they'd gotten rid of. Really, killing homeless women was cowardly. However, his displeasure must be known.

John felt the vibration in his pocket. Damn it couldn't Sherlock let him get off tonight. He hadn't had sex in much too long and after last night he needed it. This girl was too easy to seduce for him to walk away now. He looked down at the text. Hmm, it was from a number he'd never seen before, could only be from one person.

_John I really expect more from you – MH_

John considered ignoring the text but decided he'd rather not get abducted today. He offered to get….what's-her-name another drink.

_I really had no choice in the matter. It was either leave or stay there alone with no plan – JW_

_Are you peeved? – JW_

_Peeved John? Really – MH_

_I don't know how you both manage to make a text disdainful. It's rather annoying. – JW_

_I expect you to keep him in line John, not join him in making my life more difficult – MH_

_I am not his keeper Mycroft! Well, maybe I am, but this situation was different and I'm not sorry – JW_

_Why are you so accepting of this anyway? Obviously you're annoyed, but I would expect you to be more…I don't know…disapproving – JW_

_My brother has always been different John. I have always protected him and will continue to do so. I never expected him to find someone he can share his_

_"differences" with but it seems that he has. To keep him happy I will protect you as well. However, I ask that you be more careful in the future. I do have work to do – MH_

_Wow, I don't really know what to say – JW_

_I'll endeavor to be more considerate in the future. I know that the British government cannot waste time on our petty pursuits – JW_

_John I play a minor role in the government – MH_

_Of course you do – JW_

_Thank you John – MH_

_Thank you Mycroft – JW_

_Oh and John, her name is Betty – MH_

John didn't even want to know how Mycroft knew that. Three hours later John entered their flat to the sound of Chopin's Nocturne. Sherlock was swaying in front of the window. John stood and watched him for a moment, his beauty taking his breath away. He loved when Sherlock played for him. And he knew this was for him, he only played Nocturne when he knew John would need it, when he could sense the nightmares just under the surface. How he always knew, John never asked. He honestly didn't care; it just made him happy that Sherlock cared enough to soothe his nerves when the demons came. Sex hadn't been enough to satisfy him tonight, he was still on edge. He was tempted to hurt someone tonight and that, he knew, would have been completely unacceptable. He lay on the couch and let Sherlock take away his pain.


	4. Chapter 4

Every few months, Sherlock would become unbearable. John knew that most people thought of Sherlock as unbearable at all times, but really normally he was like a cuddly teddy bear compared to now. He knew it was overstimulation. Sherlock's brain never really let him relax; it was a machine that never stopped running. He could only hold the madness at bay for so long before he had to do something. John had watched Sherlock go through this cycle many times. He tried to help but he knew Sherlock would never accept his assistance. Not with this. Instead, he was forced to sit back and watch until Sherlock erupted. He never saw the actual eruption, but he knew it happened. When Sherlock would come home after, he was always so calm. He would talk to John; tell him things about himself that he would say at no other time. John came to treasure these days. He planned his life around them, making sure that he was home so he could share these moments with his normally impenetrable flatmate.

There came a time however, when John was no longer satisfied with being there for the calm after the storm. He wanted to follow Sherlock. He wanted to see where Sherlock went and what he did. He needed to know. But John could not bring himself to do so without Sherlock's permission. He was perfectly capable of following Sherlock without being seen, something which really annoyed the genius, but in the week leading up to what John knew would be another secretive evening for his flatmate, John started following Sherlock openly. A normal person would never have noticed him, but Sherlock would never be accused of being normal. After several days of this odd surveillance, he knew the night had come. They had been called on a case earlier that day. The case itself was a simple one. Sherlock solved it within five minutes. The moment that sent Sherlock over the edge, came as they were leaving. He had tossed a few insults back and forth with Anderson and Donovan as per usual, but Anderson took offense at Sherlock finding a piece of evidence on the body that he had overlooked.

"Freak!" Anderson called.

Sherlock stiffened but did not stop walking. However, something in his tone stopped John in his tracks.

"Don't ignore me you smug bastard! I'm talking to you!" Anderson yelled.

Sherlock must have noticed John's absence at his side and turned to look at him as Anderson came closer.

"Don't look at your bum boy; I'm the one talking to you! You think you're so bloody…." Anderson never finished his sentence since Sherlock threw him into the wall.

John couldn't see Sherlock's face as he was behind him, but the fear on Anderson's told him that Sherlock must have murder in his eyes.

"What did you call him?" Sherlock whispered.

Normally, his whisper would have been too low for anyone to hear, but the room had fallen silent the second Anderson's back hit the wall.

"I..I…umm" Anderson stuttered stupidly.

"Apologize." Sherlock was still whispering.

"What?" Anderson sounded thoroughly confused.

John could practically hear Sherlock's eyebrow rise, did Anderson really not know how much he hates to repeat himself?

Anderson's eyes shot over to John and back to Sherlock several times, obviously considering his options. He seemed to come to the realization that no one was coming to his rescue.

Looking over to John he said, "Umm I'm sorry." Sherlock shook him roughly. "I sincerely apologize umm John." Another shake. "Umm Dr Watson."

Sherlock released him and turned to John; his face completely blank. "Shall we?"

John smirked and led the way out.

That evening Sherlock refused to eat. Usually John could cajole him into at least nibbling off of his own plate when they weren't in the middle of a case, but nothing he did or said worked. He knew that meant that Sherlock was still furious. He kept standing up, pacing around the flat and then curling back into the chair like a marionette. He knew what Sherlock was struggling with and he was about to let him off the hook when Sherlock suddenly seemed to come to a decision. He stood and stared into John's eyes and smiled. Then he grabbed his coat and scarf and bounded down the stairs. John waited until the door closed, then grabbed his own coat and followed.


	5. Chapter 5

John followed Sherlock, keeping a steady distance between them. He did not want to get too close and cause Sherlock to change his mind. Sherlock soon came to a warehouse and stopped, standing as though waiting for something. When John settled himself against the side of a building nearby, Sherlock looked to where John was hidden and went inside. John knew he was meant to stay here, how he couldn't say, but he knew now was not yet the time. About an hour passed before John felt movement coming from the warehouse. Sherlock emerged, wearing what appeared to be some sort of Special Forces uniform. Damn, he looked sexy! John followed, his heart pounding in excitement, knowing they were finally going to be having some fun.

Sherlock led him to an area that was well known for drug activity. John's heart stopped beating. How could he be so bloody stupid! Was this Sherlock's secret? He was still using?! How could John have not noticed!? It was when his vision started blurring that John realized he was in tears. He started gasping for air, convinced that Sherlock had betrayed his faith in him, when a voice inside told him not to jump to conclusions. "Pay attention John; give him a chance to show you, to share with you!" John started calming down. It took him some time to relax enough to really pay attention. Suddenly, he saw Sherlock leaving with someone slung over his shoulder. For someone so skinny, he really was strong. John continued to follow Sherlock's shadow, his excitement returning.

When they arrived at their new destination, John was amazed at the unending supply of empty warehouses in London. That Sherlock knew of them was not a surprise, Sherlock knew where everything in the city was located along with the quickest route. He gave Sherlock time to do what he needed before interrupting him. He looked up at the sky, it was a rare clear night and the stars were shining. Finally, he entered the dark warehouse and followed the screams to where he needed to be.

Maybe John should have been surprised by the blood, maybe the serenity of the beautiful genius's face juxtaposed with the gore surrounding him should have repulsed him, but he knew he'd never seen anything so beautiful in his life. Sherlock covered in blood, slowly dissecting the creature suspended in front of him was hypnotizing. He briefly glanced at Sherlock's experiment and saw that it was still breathing. He was in awe of Sherlock's talent. To keep it alive up to this point was difficult; the shock alone could have killed it.

Two organs had already been removed from the body cavity and placed in plastic containers. John wondered if they had room in the refrigerator for Sherlock's newest acquisitions. A third was thrown behind the genius. He's obviously not interested in doing any experiments on a spleen. John wondered how many more organs Sherlock could remove before the body failed.

An hour later Sherlock was done and John had moved much closer to the genius. He didn't know when or why he started moving, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. Sherlock watched him approach from his seated position, keeping his head down, but not trying to move away. John only stopped when he was directly in front of Sherlock. He reached out and lifted his chin until he was looking into his unusual eyes. He could see the uncertainty Sherlock was trying to keep hidden. He really didn't seem know what John would do next. The vulnerability caused John's lungs to close, he couldn't breathe. No one had ever placed themselves so completely at his mercy, not willingly at least.

He straddled the taller man so they would be face to face. He could feel the blood saturating Sherlock's uniform start to seep into his clothing. He rubbed his cheek against Sherlock's covering himself completely in the blood before claiming his lips. He could taste the salty sweetness of the blood, tea and Sherlock. The combination was intoxicating. John licked and bit at Sherlock's lips, his arms around him, one gripping his neck and the other tangled in his curls. Sherlock's hands were gripping John's ass, pulling him closer so their cocks were thrusting together. John didn't even know he could make such high pitched noises until Sherlock pulled them from his throat. Sherlock's moans were like music to John's ears, John's name being said over and over in his smooth baritone. John wanted Sherlock naked, he wanted to touch him everywhere, but he knew they wouldn't last much longer. The excitement of the evening and the total exposure of both men was too much for either to take. This release was inevitable and necessary. They came together, each man screaming the other's name.

John face was tucked into Sherlock's neck as he caught his breath. Sherlock was nuzzling his ear. Finally John whispered into his neck, "Thank you Sherlock." Sherlock chuckled, "I think your gratitude is a little premature doctor. I have a change of clothing. Have you ever tried to travel across the city in the nude?"

John shot up, "Sherlock if you don't loan me your coat I will never forgive you!"

"Oh come on John, we can make an experiment of it, see how far we would get before Mycroft took pity and intervened."

"Sherlock!"

"Fine, fine, I'll loan you my scarf."


	6. Chapter 6

John was seated in a taxi on the way home to Baker Street snuggled into Sherlock's warm coat and nothing else. He was comfy and sanitized. Sherlock really did think of everything, though John was not surprised by that. Sherlock noticed everything at a crime scene; of course he would be meticulous about making sure there was nothing to connect him to one. John wanted Sherlock with him now, but he was finishing his clean up and would meet him back home. Memories of this evening's activities came to mind and he could feel his cock starting to harden. No, now is not the time for that. He was naked, wearing nothing but a coat that was too large for him; arousal could not lead anywhere good right now. But the coat smelled like Sherlock and being surrounded by the taller man's smell made not thinking about him impossible. He adjusted himself into a very uncomfortable position for the remainder of his trip to keep any sexual thoughts at bay. Upon entering the flat, he flopped onto the sofa, quite dramatically he must admit, in exhaustion. He's spending too much time with Sherlock; his habits seem to be rubbing off. But the sofa was welcoming and it too smelled like the genius. He wrapped himself in the coat and snuggled further into the sofa, falling asleep instantly.

Sherlock entered the flat quietly. He knew John was sleeping and wanted to wake him, but not quite yet. He thoroughly enjoyed their sexual encounter earlier and was ready to further explore his doctor's body, maybe by waking him with a tongue bath. He stopped when he noticed his coat on the sofa. There was a John shaped lump curled under it and the sight froze Sherlock in place. Seeing the smaller man in his seat covered by his coat caused a wave of possessiveness to crash through him. He wanted this man in a way he never wanted any other. He wanted to claim him, own him, and dominate him totally. This small unassuming man, a man that most people overlooked as being benign and placid, was his other half. His darkness matched Sherlock's own; the secrecy of their hidden lives no longer needed be a burden. They were laid bare each before the other and Sherlock expected to be afraid. He wasn't.

Sherlock walked over to the sofa and pulled his coat off of John slowly. He was still sleeping, and still naked. Blood rushed to his cock, tightening his already snug trousers. He carefully lifted John into his arms, being mindful not to jostle him too much. He paused briefly before deciding to carry him into his own bedroom. He laid him onto his duvet, watching as John curled into his pillow. He undressed and retrieved lube and a cock ring from his bedside table. Placing the lube under the pillow, he straddled his John, not resting his weight on him just yet. He slipped the cock ring onto John in preparation and then started at his left ear, licking from the root of the helix down to the lobe, nibbling slightly. John twitched. He then started licking down his throat, nibbling at his Adam's apple before moving across to his jugular and sucking. Sherlock heard the second John's breathing changed, knowing he was awake and aware of what Sherlock was doing to him. He shifted John's body so he was lying flat on his back, giving Sherlock more access. He ran his tongue along his clavicle, first to the right and then to the left. He circled the scar tissue which brought John to him. Sucking it and biting it, loving the smoothness of the scarred flesh, Sherlock could hear John's moans and smiled into his lover's skin. He ignored John's pleas for more, he wanted to savor this moment and worship him at his own pace. John's nipples were a pale pink before Sherlock started on them but were a deep rose colour by the time he moved down his abdomen. John's muscles rippled with soft laughter as Sherlock tickled him with tongue and teeth. It wasn't until he started tongue fucking his navel that Sherlock actually had to hold him down. John was writhing uncontrollably, begging Sherlock to remove the cock ring and fuck him, but Sherlock wasn't ready for that yet. He needed to mark every bit of flesh as his property. He knew there had been others to touch this body before him, but none had pleasured John this thoroughly, none had known him this intimately, and none would follow. Sherlock's marks were a declaration of dominion, to John and anyone else daring to look closely enough.

John's inner thighs were incredibly sensitive, Sherlock could hear the tears in John's voice as he continued to plead with Sherlock, but he never was a merciful man, and he was not going to change now. The backs of his knees proved to be another ticklish spot, and Sherlock was almost given a black eye for his trouble. His lower back was another, and Sherlock's cheek would definitely bruise, but it was worth it to hear the beautiful keening coming from his frantic doctor. By the time he had licked back up to the back of John's neck, Sherlock wondered if John would have a voice tomorrow. He smirked imagining how sexy a raspy John would sound. John was covered in sweat, dripping pre-cum and crazed with lust. Sherlock reached under the pillow and finally retrieved the lube. He parted John's plump ass cheeks and looked at his anus, watching it clench, anticipating the feel of it surrounding his cock, milking him. He lowered himself and licked along his opening, John could barely make a sound by this point, too far gone to the fog of lust to verbalize properly. Sherlock started fucking John with his tongue, rimming him enthusiastically. He sucked and nibbled along his ring, thrusting his tongue, starting the process of opening him up. He reached for the lube and coated his fingers. His tongue loosened him up enough that he could start with two fingers, working them into John and opening him further. By the time his third finger was comfortably inside, Sherlock could wait no longer. He needed to be inside of his John, he needed to cum deep inside his lover. He coated himself with lube and placed his cock at John's entrance. Pulling John back against his chest, he whispered into his ear, "I'm going to fuck you now John. I'm going to fuck you hard and fast. When I'm ready to cum I'm going to remove the cock ring and you're going to cum with me. Do not touch yourself, you will cum from my cock in your ass only. The pleasure I provide will be the only thing to bring you release. Do you understand me John?" John moaned desperately, his breath catching on a small sob. "That wasn't an answer John." Sherlock's words were slightly threatening, demanding an answer. John licked his lips and very quietly, whispered, "Yes." Sherlock's smile was almost malicious. He thrust into John deeply, filling him completely and immediately starting pounding into him. John's screams were glorious. Sherlock did as he promised and fucked John hard hitting his prostate over and over again. He used all of his strength to pound into him as hard as possible. He wanted John to feel him for days. He knew he was nearing his end so he reached around to John's cock and released the ring. "Cum with me John, cum now." His command was followed beautifully. John came screaming his name as Sherlock screamed John's. They collapsed onto the bed, Sherlock still encased by John's body, reluctant to remove himself. Sherlock tightened his hold on John's waist, pulling his head around to meet his eyes.

"Mine." He growled, letting John see the seriousness of his declaration clearly on his face.

John didn't react. He merely studied Sherlock closely, once he saw what he was looking for, his eyes softened. "Yours."

Sherlock finally pulled out of John and allowed him to go under his covers. He tucked John into his side and draped his arm over his body, clutching the plump ass that now belonged to him. He relished in the smells surrounding him. Their sweat and sex combined was intoxicating and comforting. Sherlock allowed the warmth of the man beside him to lull him into sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

He was being watched. He knew he was frequently watched by those around him, he may not care about looks, but he was perfectly aware of how his affected other people. He often used this knowledge to further his own agenda; attraction was such a simple thing to exploit. But this was different, this person was bold. He looked over to where he knew his admirer was seated and glared at him. The man should look away now, Sherlock knew his glare was intimidating, but surprisingly the man smiled. Oh great, a narcissist, too sure of his own pull that he failed to consider that he wouldn't be interested in him. Well, cutting him down should be a good distraction while Sherlock waited for John to finish at the surgery. The man stood and started to walk over to where Sherlock was seated. As he walked over, he studied the man. 5'11", well-built, traditionally handsome face, short brown hair, suit, well-made but not bespoke. Right-handed, educated but of only average intelligence, office worker, something in finance, unmarried, has a cat, in other words, boring.

"May I join you?" He asked, smiling obnoxiously.

"No." Sherlock took a sip of his coffee.

"Well that's not polite is it?" The idiot said as he sat anyway.

"No it is not, nor was it meant to be." He looked him over dismissively.

"Well when I see such an attractive man sitting alone, I can't help but introduce myself. My name is…."

"Your name is unimportant." Sherlock interrupted rudely. "How frequently does this work for you?"

"Umm, I don't understand." His stupid smile was still in place. Sherlock wanted to cut his lips off.

"No of course you don't. I shall spell it out for you. How frequently do you "score" by forcing your company on uninterested men?"

"I don't have a problem scoring beautiful. And everyone is interested in me, even you. You just want to play hard to get, and that's ok. I can play." As he spoke he leaned closer to Sherlock and attempted to grab his hand.

Something snapped in Sherlock, the gall of this idiot, trying to touch him! He leaned in closer and lowered the register of his voice to make it more threatening.

"Somehow, I don't think you would like the games I enjoy." The idiot's eyes flickered, and Sherlock was pleased.

"If you knew the things I would do to you, the implements I would use, the actions I would execute upon you, I don't believe you would still want to play with me."

He could almost smell the beginnings of his fear, now this was getting interesting. He could smell something else as well; this scent distracted him and brought him back to where he was currently sitting.

"Hello John." He sat back and lifted his eyes to meet those of the smaller man who had just arrived.

"Hello, is everything fine here?" John was on edge. He did not like seeing Sherlock leaning close to this strange man.

"Yes of course, this insipid man invited himself to sit next to me. I was just asking him to leave."

John's eyes flashed with anger and seeing it pleased Sherlock immensely. John possessive was a beautiful sight. He took a deep breath and lowered his eyes. If he continued to look at John in this state, he would not be able to stop himself from bending him over the table and fucking him senseless. While he was unconcerned with social convention, he knew John would be displeased. He liked this café.

"You should leave now." John's voice was pleasant, which was creepy considering the rage in his eyes.

The idiot almost fell as he jumped out of his chair a little too quickly. He looked momentarily confused as he realized that he was a good 5 inches taller than John. Sherlock could tell he was wondering why he was so intimidated by the shorter man and was considering standing his ground which made him chuckle. Why do people always underestimate him? He knew people were blind and stupid, but really, how could they not see what was so obvious? His amusement was not lost on John, who gave him an annoyed look. Sherlock was not concerned however; he could see the affection in his John's eyes. The idiot decided to cut his losses and walk away, which disappointed Sherlock briefly. John of course noticed.

"You're quite the troublemaker aren't you?" He murmured against Sherlock's temple as he placed a kiss there.

"You must have me mistaken for someone else John. I was merely enjoying my coffee when I was quite rudely interrupted." Sherlock projected pure innocence.

"Of that I have no doubt, but that doesn't mean you didn't enjoy that." John smirked.

"I get so bored John." Sherlock did not whine. He never whined.

John laughed. "Well we need to find something to entertain you then don't we?"

"I can think of something very entertaining we could be doing right now. Of course, we would have to forget about dinner." Sherlock looked hopeful.

John groaned, Sherlock knew he would never turn him down. "We'll get take away Sherlock, you may function on scraps but I need real food. And you will eat with me."

Sherlock grinned in triumph. "Yes of course John, anything you want." His voice changed again, became deeper and darker. "And then I get what I want."

John shivered in anticipation.


	8. Chapter 8

It was John's favorite game. They would pick someone they liked and stalk them, but not together. Sherlock would go one way and John would go another. They would play with their prey, make them feel uncomfortable, frighten them, but never show themselves. The point was to see if Sherlock could see where John was hidden. It was John's favorite game because he had yet to lose. Sherlock was not happy. He knew how to blend into the shadows, he knew how to look for things that other people didn't see, but he could never see John. John didn't just blend; he literally disappeared. Sherlock knew that John was a well-trained soldier and this was a well-honed skill, but dammit he should be able to find him! He was Sherlock Bloody Holmes! Also, the winner of the game won the right to make the kill. As much as Sherlock loved to watch John work, he hated losing, and even more, he hated not being able to act.

Something was different this time. John won, as usual, thought Sherlock bitterly, but he hadn't closed in for the kill yet. He was still toying with the mouse, pushing him into making stupid decisions which would have sealed his fate had they not already chosen him. But he hadn't attacked, why not? Sherlock moved closer, trying to get a sense of what John was doing. Finally John showed himself, not to the mouse, to Sherlock. He was radiant, his confidence and superiority like a scabbard protecting him. He looked where Sherlock was crouched, and mouthed two words. The words themselves were not special, but the feeling they evoked in Sherlock was enough to drop him. No one ever surprised him, not really. People were predictable. They were so easy to read, so easy to deduce, it was why Sherlock was perpetually bored. But not John, never John. How could this man ever bore him when he was so delightfully capricious? He upended Sherlock's world constantly, and with two little words he did it once again.

"Join me?"

Sherlock and John had never killed in tandem before. But it was like a dance they were born knowing. John knew which way to move to allow Sherlock the angle he wanted and Sherlock knew when to jump back so John could lunge forward. Sherlock could even hear the musical accompaniment in his head. The composition was frenzied, each crescendo a stab of a knife, the two men performing a duet of violin and cello. Sherlock always thought of John as a cello, deep and smooth, soulful and pleasing to his ear and heart. In this moment he saw every movement John made as the slash of a bow against the cello's neck. Sherlock's movements were smaller, more contained, as though he were playing his beloved violin. He swayed gracefully, caught up in the beauty of the music in his head. He would have to write this music down, perform it for John.

When it was over, Sherlock was invigorated. He had never experienced such rapture. He wanted John, wanted to pound into him and make him scream, but he had a nagging idea building in his brain. He would, on occasion, leave a body for Scotland Yard to find. He did it for the pleasure of watching them flounder, knowing they would never connect him to the crime. He hadn't done it since finding John though. John was his audience; he didn't need to flaunt his skill at people who could never appreciate him completely. But this? This needed to be shared. The beauty of their collaboration had to be seen, not hidden away from the world. He convinced John to leave him to the cleanup as a gift for sharing with him and sent him home to prepare for his ravishment. He knew John would not approve so he had to do this without him. He would have to tell him of course, they would no doubt be called to the scene, but only after the scene was set.


	9. Chapter 9

"You're joking."

"How long have you known me John?"

"You have to be joking."

"I do not joke."

"How….why….just answer that for me!"

"Which question John, the how or the why?"

"Sherlock I swear to God do not fucking play with me right now!"

Sherlock sighed, "John they won't figure it out. I would never allow it. They need to see how beautifully we work together. And I need to see them fail."

John was furious. "How the hell do you know that Sherlock? They may not be as smart as you but they are not complete morons! They are perfectly capable of finding evidence and analyzing it!"

"I don't believe anyone has ever insulted me more. Do you really think I would leave any evidence John?" John looked over at the hurt he could hear in his lover's voice. His anger lessened momentarily and he dropped his head into his hands. Kneeling before Sherlock as he lay draped on the sofa, he grabbed his face to look into his eyes.

"Sherlock you are brilliant, a genius, a god among mere mortals. I believe in you and your abilities more than I have ever believed in anyone ever. But my love, you have taken an unnecessary risk and I don't understand your reasoning. Why leave a body for them to find? Why create a scene for them to call you to? Why play this game? You're smarter than them, why do you need to prove it over and over?"

"John stop!" Sherlock jumped up and started pacing.

"No Sherlock, this is not just about you anymore, if it were then obviously you could do as you wish. But we are a team; we are partners for fuck's sake! You put yourself at risk, you put me at risk. Had you consulted me we wouldn't be arguing now! You overstepped Sherlock. I know I give you control over me; I know I let you dominate me. I'm not ashamed of being submissive to you, I love it. But this is a violation of the trust that I put in you to do right by me, to protect our life, to put our safety first!" John was beyond any coherent thought. All he could think was how weak he must sound, how pathetic Sherlock must think he is.

"You disregard the feelings of everyone out there Sherlock, but I never thought you would do it to me. I thought you held me in a higher esteem, that you respected me. Obviously I'm a delusional fool." John finally stood, making his way toward his room. Sherlock grabbed him and threw him against the mantle place. Sherlock never saw the punch coming. John's fist connected forcefully with his cheek causing him to go flying across the room.

"Don't you dare touch me." John growled at him.

Sherlock was in shock, John never rejected him! John craved his touch, whether in anger or lust, John never pulled away from Sherlock. In that instant Sherlock understood John's anger and he was afraid. Sherlock was never afraid, but he knew if he didn't react quickly he would lose John completely, and he would not allow that. He snarled at the thought and launched himself at the smaller man. Their fists flew, both determined to bring the other man to his knees. Neither fought fair, punches and kicks were landed in sensitive areas that would bring other men down. Their rage and determination anesthetized them from the pain. The fight seemed to last forever, though they would never remember for how long they really pummeled each other. Neither man actually gave up; at some point they were just too tired to keep going. They lay on the floor, trying to regain their breath, both covered in blood and the beginnings of major bruising and swelling.

Sherlock dragged himself on top of John and grabbed his face. "I'm sorry John. I have never said that to anyone but I'm saying it to you now. I do hold you higher than anyone else on the planet. I cherish you; I respect you; I revere you. And I regret doing anything that would ever make you think otherwise. I will not allow you to think otherwise, and I will fight the devil himself to keep you safe, even from my own foolishness. You belong to me."

"How can I trust that your need to grandstand won't come above me again?"

Sherlock grabbed a shard from a glass that was broken during the fight and slit his left wrist.

"What the bloody fuck Sherlock!" John screamed in horror as he grabbed Sherlock's wrist to stop the bleeding.

"Let my blood be my pledge to you John. I would die before betraying your trust again. I offer you my life." Sherlock watched as John's eyes began to soften. John leaned in and licked at the blood seeping from the wound moaning softly. Sherlock's eyes closed in bliss and awe of the perfection of the man before him.

John lifted his head and kissed Sherlock's broken lips softly. "Come on; let me take care of this. It may end up a little crooked; I think my finger is broken."

"Not a problem John, I'm very good at setting broken bones."


	10. Chapter 10

"You fell down a flight of stairs?"

"Yes."

"And John did as well?"

"Trying to stop my fall, yes."

"And how many flights did you two fall down exactly?"

Sherlock lifted his eyebrow, or at least he attempted to. The swelling around his eye made it a difficult undertaking.

"Did the staircase have fists as well?"

Sherlock merely looked at Lestrade blankly.

"May I examine the scene?"

"In a moment, I'm trying to wrap my head around this. You know how slowly my brain processes things." If looks really could kill, Greg supposed he would be as cold as the corpse laying to his left.

"Lestrade, I believe you called me here to examine the body?"

"Yes that's true, but I find myself much more interested in your face, and John's face, and his hands actually. Would you consider removing your gloves Sherlock?"

"No I would not."

"Hmmm."

"I could just leave if you would prefer."

"Oh all right, go look at the body then."

Sherlock squatted by the body and started examining it with his magnifier. Lestrade walked over to John, who was trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, and failing miserably.

"So, stairs huh?"

"Quite surprising how much damage they can do Lestrade. We get the oddest injuries in the surgery from stairs all the time."

"Do tell."

"Had a patient fall right onto a carrot once, lodged itself in his rectum. Oddest situation I'd ever seen."

"Was it lubricated?"

"Surprisingly, yes it was."

"Lucky for the poor chap then."

"I thought so."

"So would you like to tell me what really happened?"

"Not really."

"Domestic?"

"Are you listening to rumours now Lestrade?"

"Are you staring at Sherlock's arse?"

"Maybe."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"You're scaring me John."

"Shut up Greg."

"Well that was uncalled for. You're starting to act like him you know. Bit disconcerting."

"Yes well you know, the company we keep and all that rot."

"You know, I am well aware of how infuriating Sherlock can be. I just want to make sure that everything is fine."

"Thank you for your concern Greg, but it's fine."

"If you say so…..are you aware that you're still staring at him?"

"Am I? Well there's nothing else of any interest to look at is there?"

Sherlock snorted.

"Did he just snort?"

"Yes he did, but don't call it a snort. He thinks he's above such an inelegant sound."

"John, I would prefer that you cease all conversation with the detective inspector."

"Hey, what did I do?"

"Sherlock, Greg and I are having a pleasant conversation. He is concerned about my mental health."

"Whatever for?"

"I live with you. Apparently, that causes others to worry for my sanity."

"As well as the fact that you find my arse fascinating apparently."

"Eavesdropping is rather beneath you is it not?"

"I do not eavesdrop, I just happen to possess an excellent sense of hearing, and you are distracting me."

"Distracting you?"

"That is what I said."

"I'm a distraction?"

"Does the change in phrasing change the meaning of my words in any way John?"

"In what way do I distract you, Sherlock?" The way in which John purred his name caused Sherlock to shiver slightly.

"John, we're surrounded by yarders, I'm sure I could procure restraints very easily should I feel so inclined." Sherlock's voice was slightly deeper than its usual register.

"Bloody hell, are you two flirting?" Lestrade's voice was laced with horror and panic.

"Shut up Lestrade." The two men said in unison.

"Fuck, they do not pay me enough for this. I'm going to need a drink or ten in order to deal with this."

John snickered, maybe Sherlock was having too much of an effect on him. He was supposed to be the nice one after all.


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock looked up as John entered the flat. John was unhappy. Sherlock knew he had done nothing today that could have upset him so it could mean only one thing.

"How is my annoying older brother John?

"The bloody megalomaniac is just fine Sherlock. In fact, we have been invited to a dinner party tonight." John threw himself onto the sofa with Sherlock and buried his head into Sherlock's neck. He would probably never cease to be amazed by how pleasurable John's ease with him was. No other person who knew Sherlock had ever been so casually affectionate with him. Though he was aware he would have never allowed another to touch him so freely, John never even asked, it just never occurred to him that he would be pushed away. It was just another aspect of John that set him so far apart from the boring masses. Wait John said something that should be annoying him. What was it?

"A dinner party? Why on earth would he think we would attend one of his parties?"

"Apparently, we owe the git."

"I distinctly remember that being his grounds for demanding assistance with the missing baroness last week."

"You didn't exactly hold up your end of the bargain on that one, love. You were supposed to keep the situation out of the papers."

"Well it's not exactly my fault John."

"You called the reporters to spite your brother."

"Exactly, that makes it entirely his fault."

John chuckled. "Yes well, he doesn't see it that way and is demanding that you make up for the embarrassment by playing dancing monkey at this little shindig of his. I'm invited solely to keep you in line."

"Has he met you John?"

"He underestimates me."

"Everyone underestimates you. I thought him more enlightened. I've never been more ashamed to share DNA with him." He smirked, an idea blossoming in his deviant brain. "We should play a game John."

John's head shot up eagerly. "A game? Wait, what kind of game?" As much as John loved their games, there were times when he really did need to rein in his impetuous genius.

"One that ends with you naked, covered with blood and impaled by my cock." John shivered.

"Sherlock, Mycroft would never forgive us for playing with one of his guests. I love antagonizing him almost as much as you do, but that would just be bad form."

"Joooohn, I'm sure there will be guests he would never miss." John would never admit to loving it when Sherlock whined his name.

"No, I want him to leave us alone for a while. If we conduct ourselves properly, maybe I can avoid being abducted for a few months. I'm seriously debating removing Anthea's thumbs and I'm sure Mycroft wouldn't like that."

"John you're evil, if you're going to take her thumbs, you might as well take her head."

"Torture Sherlock, look it up."

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Sherlock, I would rather not be too late." John was ready to go drag the stubborn man out of the bathroom by his hair when he finally came out.

"Honestly John, if you're going to force me to go to this ridiculous party, you could at least let me be unforgivably late. You look dashing by the way. Maybe I can convince you to forget going out and stay home and shag instead? You'd need to leave the suit on, of course." Sherlock had a serious kink for John in tailored suits. They had been late to more than one function due to Sherlock's libidinous behavior each time John wore one.

"I think we're going to have to get dressed in different locations if we're going to be going to anymore functions you pervert." John huffed as Sherlock nibbled on his neck. As much as he didn't want to, he pushed Sherlock away. "Let's go. The faster we get there, the faster we can leave."

"Fine you tiny tyrant."

"Stop pouting."

"I do not pout."

"You're late."

"Do you always look like you've bitten into something sour, or is that look solely for us?"

"My brother is a bad influence on you John."

"Believe it or not Mycroft, I do not enjoy being abducted by you. Every time it happens, my ability to be polite lessens dramatically. I'd expect that, before the end of the year, I'll be just as rude as Sherlock." John avoided looking at the man chuckling beside him. "Maybe you should consider scheduling appointments with me."

"I'll try to remember that." Mycroft's disdain of the idea was evident.

"How long are we expected to stay Mycroft?" Sherlock was blunt as always.

"I haven't decided that yet. Let's see how well you mingle shall we?"

"Mingle?" Sherlock spat the word as though it were something vile. John almost laughed.

"Don't worry love, I'll do the mingling. You can just look pretty." Sherlock was probably glaring at him, but John wasn't going to look back and confirm it. He went to mingle, knowing his genius would follow. He hated people too much to be comfortable without John as a buffer.

Dessert was over and some guests were dancing when Sherlock snaked an arm around John's waist, pulling him back into his chest and growling into his ear. John smirked. He'd purposely been ignoring him and flirting with an annoying woman whose name he couldn't be bothered to recall. It may not be smart to provoke him, but he loved when Sherlock was possessive.

"Do you want me to slit her throat John? Or maybe remove her tongue and eyelids. Is that why you're trying my patience John?" Goddammit, John loved when Sherlock said his name in anger.

"Why would you do such a petty thing?" John was purring  
.  
"Don't tempt me John. She's been batting her eyes at you. She keeps talking to you. She touched you. She put her filthy hand on your arm." Sherlock pulled John tighter to his body, making it harder for John to breathe. "No one is allowed to touch you. How many times do I have to tell you this John? You're mine." John thought he might black out from a combination of lack of air and arousal. "I think it's time for me to start punishing you John. I've let you get away with too much; you've become much too impertinent." John didn't think he could get harder but he was wrong. Sherlock never threatened to punish him before. He had teased him and played with him, but this was new, and very welcome.

"Please."

"I would suggest that you delay the begging, you have no idea how much begging you'll be doing later."

Sherlock turned abruptly, almost dropping John. He dragged John behind him as he went to find Mycroft.

"Mycroft, we're leaving now."

"Has something happened Sherlock, John?"

"Don't speak to him!" John kept his eyes on the floor. He hadn't been told to, but he had a feeling it would be best if he not make eye contact with anyone right now. He had pushed his lover to the edge and as excited as he was about the consequences, he knew not to push any farther at the moment.

"I see. I'll be checking in with you tomorrow Sherlock."

"I would prefer it if you didn't, but if you insist, then not too early. John is going to have a long night." John shivered.

Sherlock pulled John outside and into a taxi.

"Keep your eyes down and your hands in your lap. Do not speak. When we arrive at Baker Street, go straight upstairs and strip. I expect you naked with both hands on the mantle within 3 minutes. Is that clear?"

John nodded. He had no idea what Sherlock had planned for him, but he was sure it would be glorious.


	12. Chapter 12

When the taxi stopped at 221B, John shot out of the car and up the stairs, leaving Sherlock to pay the fare. He wasn't given very long to prepare and he wanted to please his angry lover. He ran into the flat and started stripping quickly. Normally, he would hang the suit as soon as he took it off, but he was rushed. He threw his clothes into his chair, kicking his shoes somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen. By the time the sound of Sherlock's steps was ascending the stairs, he was positioning himself as instructed.

Sherlock entered the moonlit flat, silent but for the sound of John's breathing, and merely observed his willful love. He had never seen anything as perfect as John in this moment. He knew what a dangerous predator he was, how strong and confident his lover was. He had seen him covered in blood and sweat, blood pumping from a fresh kill and once thought that was his most beautiful, but this was glorious. This amazing man submitting completely to his will humbled Sherlock as nothing else ever could. How could anyone, knowing him as John did, ever trust him so completely? How could John know that he would be able to control himself not to totally give in to his bloodlust while playing this game? And yet he did. Sherlock's knees actually weakened with this realization. He was not a good man, he pretended to be many things, but good was not one of them. He knew he didn't deserve to be this happy, to be gifted with this level of love and trust, but there was no way he would ever give it up.

John listened while Sherlock watched him. He heard the sharp intake of breath when Sherlock saw him standing just as he directed. He almost smiled, knowing that Sherlock was pleased with him. Considering that they had watched each other kill and had killed together, that they had fucked with a corpse in the room and done other somewhat sordid things, you would think that John would not hesitate to tell Sherlock anything, but you would be wrong. John and Sherlock still had a great many secrets from each other, and sexual history was one of them. Sherlock had no interest in John's past affairs, he was too possessive to want the image in his brain, but there were certain desires that John had that he hadn't shared with Sherlock and this level of submission was one of them. As Sherlock stood and watched him, John was worried that he was changing his mind. He was about to break his ordered position and throw himself at Sherlock's feet to beg for more when Sherlock finally moved. He walked past John into his bedroom. John listened frantically trying to get some idea of what Sherlock was doing. He heard the closet open and Sherlock remove something. Sherlock came back into the room with an ornate box. John could only guess at what the box held, but he hoped he was right.

Sherlock removed his jacket and loosened his tie. John hadn't moved an inch. He was tense though. Sherlock could see how badly John wanted this and his tension told him that he was afraid Sherlock would stop before he started so he went slowly, wanting to torture his darling doctor before giving this to him. This torture was the punishment for John's flirting at tonight's party. Sherlock opened his toy box and perused the contents. He chose a few things he wanted to use and approached his tense lover. He decided to start with the Wartenberg pinwheel. It was one of his favorites and he had a feeling that John would love it too. He didn't use much pressure to start, just enough so John would feel it, and moved it down his back. As he worked his way up and down John's skin, he could feel the tension melt from his body. Yes, he needed this just as much as Sherlock did. He added more pressure, just enough to break the skin slightly, bringing forth small beads of blood. He moaned, the sound echoed by John as he felt Sherlock lick at the blood hungrily before he could stop himself. He turned John and stretched his arms out to the side along the mantle.

"Close your eyes John." He whispered into the shorter man's ear.

Instantly, John's eyes were shut. His obedience made Sherlock weak again. This man was truly going to be the death of him. He attached a clamp to John's right nipple, causing him to flinch slightly in surprise. When he placed the clamp on the left side, John managed to keep himself from reacting. He tightened the clamps enough that they would be uncomfortable but not cause any damage. He wanted to wound not maim his flirtatious lover. John was breathing a little faster than before but otherwise showed no sign of discomfort. Sherlock clipped the chain onto the right clamp. He could see John's face twitch slightly. He smirked, yes John was curious. But not nervous, not yet. He clipped another side of the chain onto the left clip letting the chain dangle down the middle of John's torso for a moment. John's eyes were sliding back and forth beneath his lids, belying his outward serenity. He was controlling his body's response perfectly. Sherlock could smell his lover's arousal, knew the chemical changes in John's body as well as his own, but his penis was still flaccid, a testament to John's control. Sherlock was going to enjoy breaking him.

Sherlock reached for the cock ring that attached to the y chain and placed it on John. Pulling the chain down slightly, he clipped it to the ring, completing the design. John tensed at the pull on his nipples, which would only intensify as he moved his body. He quickly realized this and became still again. Sherlock picked up the pinwheel and pressed it into John's chest. He used more pressure this time. He wanted John to move and he wanted John to bleed. He worked quietly, watching John's face as he responded involuntarily. He was trying so hard to remain expressionless, needing Sherlock to conquer him, subjugate him and own him. And Sherlock would, but he had to prove his worth to this proud creature who was allowing him to defile his strong body. He stepped back and studied his work. John was breathing a little heavier; blood was dripping in perfectly parallel stripes down his chest. His cock was starting to rise slightly. It was time to move on. Sherlock reached for his riding crop.

"Turn back around John, and keep your eyes closed."

John turned slowly.

"Place your hands on the mantle."

John complied.

John's chest hit the mantle the first time Sherlock hit him. He wasn't expecting the crop and Sherlock did not warn him so he wasn't braced properly. The crop wasn't what made him scream though; it was the clamps pulling sharply on his sore and oversensitive nipples. Sherlock only gave him a few seconds to prepare for the next blow before he began whipping him ruthlessly. It took a while before he was able to make him scream again. John braced himself and took each blow with grace and obstinance. Eventually, the grunts and whimpers forced their way out. Sherlock finally stopped when John was screaming with each whip of the crop against John's bloody and bruised back and ass. He threw the crop down and grabbed John by his hips, pulling him back into his body. John fell into his chest, Sherlock's bruising grip the only thing holding him up. John gasped at the pain of contact, but looked over his shoulder into Sherlock's eyes. "Please Sherlock, fuck me please." His plea was ragged and breathy and like music to Sherlock's dark heart. Using saliva as the only lubricant, he prepared John quickly and perfunctorily, his only goal not to rip him apart.

Sherlock quickly opened his pants and pushed them down enough to free his incredibly erect cock, and thrust into John's body, hitting his balls against John's ass in one hard stroke. He was so focused on thrusting into the tight body beneath him that he could not hear either of their screams. The only indication that he made a sound was his sore throat after. He felt like they were fucking for hours, Sherlock plunging into John's ass forever, refusing to allow this perfect joining to end, but even he lacked that much control. Finally, he removed John's cock ring and allowed his orgasm to crash over him, Sherlock's ejaculation was so powerful it was painful, tears streaming down his face. He and John collapsed on the floor, Sherlock just barely having the presence of mind to keep himself from crushing John beneath him.

After resting briefly, Sherlock stood, lifting John from the floor and carrying the smaller man into the tub. He was covered with sweat, blood, tears and the semen of both men. Sherlock removed the clamps and massaged John's sore nipples to allow circulation to return. He then soaped and rinsed John off before filling the tub and pulling John's body against his for a long soak. He nuzzled his nose into John's hair and stroked the hair leading down to John's cock.

"No one has ever trusted me so completely John."

John simply turned his head to nuzzle Sherlock's neck.

"Why John?"

For a moment, Sherlock wondered if John would answer when he finally spoke.

"You give me substance, before you I was almost incorporeal. Being invalided home took everything I had. Now I'm filled with you. How could I not give you my all? I belong to you."

"How did you know I wouldn't kill you?"

"Simple, you'd be lost without your blogger."

Sherlock couldn't stop himself, he laughed.


End file.
